Thursday, November 1, 2018

My Own Poem/Nothing But Death/imaginary gardens with real toads/Nothing But Death--Pablo Neruda

My Own Poem/ Nothing But Death

Sometimes it seems true
Nothing but death
All are dead
The kids you knew at school

So many have died
Old friends have died
There seems no one left
The family all gone

No one to celebrate
That we are still living
The holidays come
The phone doesn't ring

The house is quiet
Your bed is empty
The boy down the street
The one who had aids

Your folks are gone too
And so are your children
One begins to wonder
Is it nothing but death

November 1, 2018

Note: I was inspired by Pablo Neuruda's poem, Nothing But Death.

8 comments:

Brendan MacOdrum said...

Savagely sad, but I am sure that's why there is a feast day for all the departed. And why, I suppose, the day of the dead is about beginnings and new years. Because its all about going on until its our time to cross over. I have lost so many it is no wonder ghosts are a constant companion. And why we write poems like these.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

It does sometimes feel that way, with so many gone. Have a wonderful day, my friend.

annell4 said...

Thank you Brendan.

annell4 said...

Thank Sherry.

Sanaa Rizvi said...

Oh gosh this pierces straight through the heart :( Beautifully poignant.

brudberg said...

I have not reached the point of my life were everyone has left... and I wonder if I will be the one leaving or the one that's left.

annell4 said...

Your question will not be answered, that is the "mystery of life." Thanks for your comment, Bjorn.

Old Egg said...

There is no answer is there? Why did my wife and her sister die before their husbands? Such is the mystery of life but good reason to live your own life to the fullest while you can, which I am sure you do.

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